


Memories

by Kit_SummerIsle



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Crypt, Gen, Halloween, Supernatural - Freeform, decepticrypt challenge, ghost - Freeform, graveyard, mix of G1 and TFP, tombs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-24 06:48:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4909432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kit_SummerIsle/pseuds/Kit_SummerIsle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Decepticon Crypt has stood undisturbed for a long time... but now a shadow moves around and the dark peace that lingers around the place is about to be disturbed...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Graveyard

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to stay as close to canon with the crypt as I could but I did make some changes. For one it is not fully underground and the drainage grate is obviously not the normal entrance. 
> 
> Also, about the characters - I tended to envision them more TFP-like, but with the G1 colours. Also, while the Crypt itself only exist/been described in G1, I mixed TFP elements into the story too.

The night was as silent a on a mechanical, almost-alive, never fully winding down planet it could ever be. The slow whirl of hundreds of small house vents near and far blended together to form a low, deep, all-pervasive hum that most mechs didn’t even take conscious notice of beyond their own. The sharp, dark edges of the many buildings, most standing, but some still in ruins that cut the blackness were mostly silent – only a few creaks and groans signaled their presence in the Cybertronian night scene. Turborats and fire-ants scurried and darted quickly in the nooks and crannies, their tiny footsteps almost, but not quite blending into the other noises; they were few after eons of warfare but the pests has always survived destruction better than higher life-forms. In the distance an engine’s sharper, more distinct noises echoed, but in a breem it was gone and with it the illusion of peace returned to the place. Dark and heavy peace it was, the smoky air even more oppressive than usual, its foglike tendrils unusually many as they writhed around, converged almost life-like in one place among the ruins and still standing buildings.

The massive shape that sat in the center of a curious, enclosed space than might have been a crystal garden once, but was now only a debris-strewn field, was larger than most buildings around it, sitting silently and ponderously in the darkness that shrouded it. It rose as much into the air as it cast its roots deep into the planet’s mantle and it was even more silent than the still-breathing ones that surrounded it like followers a great leader. Ominous in its monolithic simplicity that could be seen even in the darkness, looming over any who dared to come close, be it a minibot or a huge combiner, it gave off its own sense of forbidding blackness that dared to compete with that of the night cycle. Dead, rusted metal edged the tall, heavy and unadorned pillars, their presence might be explained by the eons of disrepair, their dark red is shrouded in fog… but the rest of the building curiously gave no sign of rust, not even a speck of it that would mar the glint of tarnished, pitch-black metal… the rusted lines were not accidental, not the work of time, but a sign of the building’s function. Nowhere else had Cybertronians allowed rust on their living being, their homes or other buildings they still used, only here. Not outline of doors or windows appeared behind the stark line of pillars, only the forbidding, massive walls of metal stood behind the pillared façade. 

An engine coughed nearby, sputtering as it idled down from locomotion to a standstill, breaking the background noise. The smog appeared to hesitate before it swirled again, like curious about the living mech who came here after the place being so long abandoned. Darkness held its nonexistent breath. A tall frame moved slowly, red pinpoints examined the darkness, a small, hesitant step crunched something crystalline on the ground and there was a screeching noise, followed by the sudden squeak of an engine – the mech stepping onto the crystal fragment jumped and was now frozen in one place, spindly servos over his wildly spinning spark, engine sputtering… it used to be one of the lesser markers, one of the crystal ones around the building and though there was no way he could have seen it in the darkness, among the outer garden’s debris strewn surface… the mech still felt like he stepped onto someone’s grave. Which he actually did.

Long legs trembled and a heeled, slender pede shifted as though trying to find a better, smoother piece of ground to stand on. He kicked away a crumpled piece of sheet metal, the sharp sound cutting a worryingly loud echo in the darkness. The tall, angular frame froze again, long wings shot up and were forced down again with an effort. Vents sighed out a withheld breath and the figure strengthened up again, twin red pinpoints falling onto the building’s stark black walls. The darkness was still too thick, wrought with foggy smoke tendrils to properly see most things around, even with the dark-adapted, sharp optics of a Seeker. He could sort of see the outlines of the building – and suddenly the edging of rusted, dead metal made a horrifying sense as it neatly turned up in his vision, in a way the proper, living metal did not – and what looked like a separate, particularly large piece of apparent debris in the middle of the garden.

Slightly shaking legs took a small, cautious step, shifting away debris, then another, picking a more or less clean path among the debris and refuse. The predominantly dark frame blended well into the darkness and the smoggy tendrils gleefully hidden his colours into a diffuse palette of some very dark greys, moderate blacks, slightly darker, deeper blacks and the colour found only in the cores of long dead stars. His movement therefore was one of a dark shadow moving within equally dark shadows and disguised by the writhing, diffuse fog no lighter than either of them. But no observer was around to watch the cautious advance, not with proper optics and none with… other kinds. The dark in the dark figure with its slightly twitching wings could move unimpeded in the former grave garden, only occasional clangs betraying his advance.

Clangs, he could take, the mech’s frantic processor mumbled inwardly, clangs were just… metal. Metal, he knew of, metal he could understand and handle. The earlier meeting with the crystalline grave marker frazzled his processor, even though he had known that there was a chance of encountering one – the outer garden was nearly covered with them the last time it was seen without the war-torn debris and ruins covering them all up. It didn’t make it actually easier to acknowledge that he had stepped on one. The Seeker silently murmured a short sentence, a tiny, broken part from what used to be an elaborate and sacrosanct prayer honoring the fallen – but what was by these orns just a mindless charm to ward off the evil and keep the unnamed dark force in bay. It was automatic really, as he neither understood the words of Primal Vernacular, nor even cared to; all in all the Seeker was neither a believer nor one afraid of, well, anything. 

Definitely not afraid of ghosts, he thought defiantly, since ghosts were the creations of overactive organic processors… brains, he reminded himself, who loved to frighten themselves with living dead, zombies, vampires, ghosts… and that sort of things. Cybertronians had no ghosts, he thought with strengthening resolve and he straightened up from his earlier stoop, wings proudly fanning out behind, steps becoming surer, the tremble almost unnoticeable in them… the grave marker was just that: a piece of broken crystal, enclosing a long empty, broken down spark-chamber; a memory for sure, but not like its former owner would come back and berate him for stepping on it. Certainly not after so long and even if he did, the Seeker was more than a match for him. The outer garden contained the lesser members of the Decepticon Army, the fodder, the thousands of nameless mecha who gave their sparks for a supposedly brighter future. And anyhow, they were all deactivated, their sparks long rejoined the Well, their frames long melted down into the heavy, small cubes of metal that paved the garden and made up the walls, their processors long rusted to dust and flew with the winds… there was nothing to be ghosts of, nothing at all. After all, who would forsake the Well to dwell among the broken ruins alone? Still, the thought caused his wings to twitch and dip somewhat and red pinpoints quickly looked around in the silent darkness.

The large piece of protruding metal in the middle of the garden was now directly ahead of him, dwarfing even the Seeker frame and he moved towards it like it was a magnet drawing him closer. The grey fog swirled around it thickly too, hiding its shape and the precise contours, but the Seeker’s movement was sure as he reached out, spindly, pointed digits touching the corrugated metal in one precise spot, one where, were it lighter around a brighter patch could have been seen, the echo of the millions of digits touching it too, leaving the metal brushed and shinier than anywhere else… and in response inside a silent, nonsentient processor spun up from its long rest, doing what it was designed to do even after rusting in a lonely silence for ages, reading the field of the mech standing in front of it with twitching wings and nervous glances around. The metal warmed slightly from the touch and the Seeker yanked his servo away. Dead metal shouldn't be warm. Machines shouldn't feel... well, almost alive, especially not where there shouldn’t be anything alive.

It took barely a few nanokliks, but they felt like centuries for the Seeker. Red optics, the only direct source of light in the smog-shrouded, darkness-hidden garden, snapped this way and that, the earlier fright slowly creeping back into his spark and processor, the sharp facts and assurances less than convincing in the oppressive not-quite-silence of the darkness and the writhing, almost alive fog… but just then a sharp click broke the silence – nearly his nerves too – and on the pitted slab of metal faint lines started to appear, outlining a doorway big enough for the largest of mechs, nearly dwarfing the Seeker. With a last glance around, a last nervous tic of his wings he put his servos on the slab and pushed.


	2. The Crypt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has officially become a messy mixture of G1 and TFP. I'm not even sorry. :-)

The metal door was heavy and its hinges and rails nearly rusted together by long disuse, dirt and rust settling into the structure. The first push failed to move it, only resulted in a slight tremble and a slow, low groan from somewhere deep inside its mechanism. The Seeker stepped back a little, put both servos on the slab and pushed with all the power his frame possessed – it might not be the brute strength some large grounders had, but his engines were built to lift him high in the air and it was not a trifle; his slender servos might not be like some huge hams that could crumble rock, but they still held power. The thought of using one of the missiles nestled on his forearms flashed through his processor, but just then, the metallic slab gave another, louder and pitiful crack and moved. Slowly, with an audial-hurting screech it turned, the bottom part leaving bright streaks where it scraped over the time-darkened surface. Everything was dusty inside, the air reeked of its metallic, rusty odour, the floor was covered by its soft, red-grey carpet, the hinges of the door, the empty niche in the wall, their outlines were all softened by accumulation of the visible layers of grime… the unkind thousands of vorns gone by. If any still maintained the Crypt, they sure didn’t come and go by this route.

The Seeker grimaced and stepped inside gingerly, trying to disturb as little of the dust as he could. The dark of the garden was even deeper inside, but his keen optics could pick up some tiny flashes of deep, faint, purplish red light on edges and corners – and they didn’t come from him, weren’t the reflections of his optic lights. They sort of lined out the corridor that lay ahead of him, the barely there flashes on the walls the only thing that existed in the darkness and showed the way. He could have turned on night sensors, the Seeker knew, he should have done it in fact – but somehow it felt more fitting not to disturb the velvet blackness of the tomb. He was strangely uneasy to start down on the corridor, lingering by the doorway, like its solid, dusty surface connected him to the outside world. The living world. Beyond this point was the kingdom of the deactivated… and the Seeker has cheated death enough to feel something might just try to make him stay here. 

That was why he had so far been uneasy to visit. It might even be why nomech who survived liked to be reminded of their own dallying with death. Those entombed here were ones he used to be fighting beside. Any missile, shot, stab or explosion that took them to the other side could have been one taking _him_ instead. It’s been vorns since the end of the war, vorns since they finally returned to a reborn Cybertron – and the Seeker knew himself to be the first to come here, to open the door and to set a pede deeper to the Crypt for eons. And he only did it because he was slowly going mad from not understanding. He should have been dead. He should have been entombed here, beside his partner… the Seeker suddenly released the cold metal he was gripping and took a step ahead. When in doubt, act. He had long lived by this tenet and he wasn’t going to stop now.

The steps echoed slightly in the corridor that curved away and then back towards the Crypt. It wasn’t long – but it felt like megamiles as he set one pede ahead of another, little puffs of dust mushrooming up from every step he took in the dark. The faint lines around him, reflecting on the segmented, rough metal of the walls grew distinctly stronger, but retained their flickering, wavering quality. Soon they were competing with his optic lights, then grew strong enough so he could actually perceive his surroundings, then he even heard the faint crackling of it, an unidentifiable sussuration, swishing, tiny little pings… sounds that were strange in a place that there was noting and nobody aside from him and made him nervous. The last corner turned and the light-source became obvious. A comparatively huge bowl sat on a low pedestal in the center of the Crypt, full of crackling, reddish-purple flames that reached high, blackening the roof overhead, spreading the Crypt with strong, but unwelcoming light, that appeared to reach out towards him angrily, wanting him to be gone, to stop disturbing the silence, flashing on and off the rough, pillared walls, the pedestals… and the statues that stood just inside the dark steel walls, among the simple, straight but majestic pillars, on raised pedestals, lifelike, but colourless, foreboding, looming over any intruder…

Another little prayer fell from the Seeker’s lips, another ward with a forgotten meaning, a near curse that echoed sharply and long from unseen walls, like they batted it back at him, like the statues themselves whispered it back with unmoving lips and dark optics… Red optics darted all the way round, seeking the source of the many echoes, seeking any who, like him could speak up still… but there was nothing alive there, only the flames swayed in the disturbed air currents and the reverberating echoes. Dark wings were held so close they were nearly invisible, low in unnamed fear, little trembles shaking the metal, the pretense of false bravado has given out in the terrifying echo that appeared to never end. The long-dead mastery of architecture and acoustic of the builders made sure that any sound originating in the chamber would have a long life – thereby encouraging silence to remember and honour the fallen. The Seeker had forgotten that warning he heard a long time ago.

The tall flames hid the other side of the Crypt from him and the Seeker glanced at the closer statues first after he recovered the sudden terror that gripped him with the unending echo. Tall grounders, obviously gone long ago by the definitely old-style armour, and the Seeker didn’t immediately recognize them. In the bright, but flickering light, the faded glyph carvings on the pedestals were hard to read, but he thought he could see Terminus and Straxus, while the third remained a mystery to him. So old, even the statue itself lost the hard edges under the layer of dust and the glyphs were of a dialect the Seeker never seen before. He moved on, wings jerking frightened when the central flames appeared to reach out for them – the draft, it had to be the draft! – and his small jump echoed again in the Crypt.

His wings were almost plastered to his back by the time he reached the statue he had come for. Strong wing, long denied of flight spread behind the tall statue that appeared to be a bit more heavyset than most slim, tall Seekers. The dull grey of the statues robbed him of colours, but the visiting Seeker could vividly remember their dark, elegant blue, the slate grey and the bright crimson stripes. His throat constricted and purple striped wings flared mournfully, forgetting the fear that so far has gripped them. The statue towered over him on its pedestal, the visage carved forever into the metal scowled slightly at him – but for the visitor they were all achingly familiar and not in the very least foreboding…

**SCREEEEEEEEEEEECH!!!!!!!!**

Skywarp actually jumped up to the air, turbines vainly trying to keep him up, but unable to spin up sufficiently in such a short time, so he fell, crashing onto his knees on the dusty metallic floor. His spark tried to spin out of its chamber, his vents blew hot air and his optics spiralled so wide that the lenses nearly fell out. From his servo two small, round, metallic objects fell clattering to the floor, rolling on it until they came to a stop by the base of Thundercracker’s pedestal. Skywarp grabbed after it, fear and determination warring in him even as he was frantically looking around for the source of that sound. It was real, not his imagination, it was still, after nerve-wracking breems echoing all over the Crypt, the curved walls and arched roofs batting the sound back and forth…

Slender claws gripped the round objects with a force nearly denting the metal. It was to stop them trembling too. The other servo gripped the pedestal in front of him, to pull him onto also slightly trembling pedes. The screeching sound slowly died away in the reverberation of echoes, the Crypt once again ensconced in its dark silence. The Seeker slowly straightened his long arm and carefully placed the metallic pebble onto the edge of the pedestal. There were no other markers there and that filled him with sadness… and guilt. Every pedestal had one or two, the older ones dozens – Decepticons in general weren’t a group with strong ties to the dead, but some still mourned loved… or respected ones. 

Even the next pedestal had one pebble on it, which kind of surprised the Seeker. That pedestal had no markings, no glyphs on it and the statue was broken off at the knees… it looked like vandalism, a disturbing sight here. Whatever grudges Decepticons held towards each other, it was supposed to end once the object of them deactivated. But the Seeker knew what used to stand there. The pedes that were the same as his own, the heeled, slender legs that could never belong to any grounder… even now, with no frame over them, the stance held arrogance and determination, pride and failings all in one packet.

**SCREEEEEEEEEEEECH!!!!!!!!**

He was still frightened, but not so much as the first time it happened. The flames in the bowl wavered and tried to reach out for him again – but the Seeker felt an unexplainable cold, clammy touch instead of the heat they should rightfully carry. He shivered, wings folding up again and he scuttled closer to the Seeker statue, like it could protect him. The cold wind… draft?... batted against him again, but broke before it could reach him. It even felt _angry_ , smelled _angry_ , sounded _angry_ , the Seeker thought crazily, though how a mere movement of air could appear so, it was certainly beyond him. 

Another wailing screech cracked into the silence, this one packing more frustration and anger, nearly physically battering the Seeker, who cowered back to the pedestal. When he saw something move at the corner of his vision he whipped his helm that way – but there was only darkness there and purplish flames reflecting from foreboding metallic surfaces. The scream echoed around him, filling the air with clammy cold and almost heard voices, words…. A voice Skywarp knew well. They were accusing, frustrated and angry, they were pointing at him for living and venting where they could only be echoes of the dead…

“Who are you!?! Where are you?!?”

Drawing flush to Thundercracker’s pedestal, Skywarp felt unexpected strength filling him again. He lifted his wings and shouted again, his voice much less trembling than before.

“What do you want?”

But no answer came to his shouts. Just the air was wailing around him again, like it mourned something. But for a klik Skywarp saw something again, an ethereal, hazy, transparent cloud forming over the broken statue next to Thundercracker’s. It was no more solid that the flickers of the flames… but it was unmistakable. The legs rose from the stumps, pointed knee-guards pricked the air, slender hips turning, long arms wide, questioning, wings flared, a jagged, golden crown flashed on the helm… and like smoldering lava, red pinpoints flamed at him accusingly.

“S-s-ssstars-s-scream?”

The mirage was gone as fast as it appeared, but the sounds if anything, intensified, filling the Crypt with eldritch sounds, wailing and screaming, mixed with mad laughter. 

Skywarp felt a bout of anger. 

“YOU threw us out!”

The laughter was gone and only the wailing remained.

“YOU killed us!”

The purple flames blew towards him like a pointed digit.

“I don’t know, okay?!? I just woke up here after… after we died.”

Skywarp was honestly fed up. Starscream dared to blame _him_ from beyond the grave? For what? For being alive? He cursed it enough himself, for whatever saved him should have saved Thundercracker too. Or the blue Seeker alone. He would have managed better in this strange, peaceful, renewed Cybertron than Skywarp, who still didn’t know how to fit in among the survivors. 

“You dug your own grave!”

The eerie screaming crescendoed for a klik and it slowly faded into tired echoes until the Crypt was once again quiet, the darkness only broken by the slight crackling of the flames and the Seeker’s own heavy venting. Skywarp stood up and took a hesitant step towards the broken statue.

“Look… I’ll… I’ll have it repaired, okay?”

Suddenly it felt stupid speaking up, like there was nomech around – and no ghost either – and his words fell into a void. Skywarp took two steps and put down the other marker to the pedestal. He flew for these to Vos, dug up metal from the ruins of the city to melt it and form the markers. They were dark and discoloured like all that was once the Seeker city. But the marker already there… from up close, Skywarp saw that it was light, silvery-white and a perfect sphere… and he wondered who have left it there. It felt incongruous in the sinister darkness of the Crypt, alien, strange… like an Autobot among Decepticons… but how could…

Skywarp ohhh-ed. The purple flames bent towards him again, this time nearly licking his armor and the air grew colder, clammier. 

“O-okay… I g-go now.”

He returned to the other pedestal, placed one servo on it and sighed.

“TC… I wish you weren’t frolicking in the Well now. I, well, I could use your calm with these stupid Bots these orns. I mean, even Megatron left… well, most of us left really. Those who didn’t, well, didn’t die. Cybertron is… disgustingly Autobot now.”

Skywarp paused, but no answer came. The Crypt was as peaceful and silent as it should be with no ghosts and unexplained drafts pointing the purple flames around. The Seeker sighed again.

“I wish I knew why I was… ummm, returned. I should have died with you. Frag… I did die there. I remember. But I’m still here… or, I guess it’s again, right? And I have no idea why.”

The air around him laughed again. It was a less angry but more mocking laugh this time. 

“Do YOU know why?”

Skywarp felt stupid asking the empty air. Still, he listened for a sound and watched the flames for any movement. But neither came, just the last echoes of the laughter reverberated among the arches.

“So you do. Should’ve known. Actually… why are you still around? I mean… isn’t it boring here?”

**“IT IS.”**

The sudden, booming voice was so unexpected, even after the ghostly apparitions, that Skywarp actually squealed and nearly teleported out. With wings once again plastered to his back he looked around, trying to find out who, besides Starscream's ghost was around still.

“W-w-w-wwwho a-a-are y-y-you???”

**“HE ENTERTAINS US.”**

Indignant shrieking, for once a familiar sound answered to the totally unexpected words and faint laughter joined them from another direction. Skywarp was, for his part nearly frozen. Another, slightly less booming and distinctly different voice continued.

**“WE ARE ALL HERE.”**

Skywarp was officially scared. All? All what? All who? 

ALL GHOSTS WERE HERE? And why were they speaking to him? What was going on here?


	3. The Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry to take a whole year with the conclusion of this fic. It fought me all the way since Skywarp set a foot in the Crypt, and went in a completely different way than I intended. I like this ending too, but last year, I planned only TC and Warp, but the others wanted a say too. Especially Starscream. What can a writer do, then? Let them write the fic... :-S

**“Warp… it’s difficult to explain, and you really shouldn’t be here now… but I’m still glad that you came.”**

It was a familiar voice and Skywarp turned, half afraid he’d see a mech… half glad that he didn’t. It was just a voice, like all the others… like all but Starscream, but the Seeker gave no thought for that. He stared at Thundercracker’s statue and his spark ached.

“Teee-Ceee…?”

**“It’s me, Warp.”**

“W-why are you all here and what’s going on and… slag, I missed you…”

Another eldritch laugh echoed through the chamber and Skywarp drew closer to Thundercracker’s statue. 

**“I missed you too. More than I can tell. Which is the only reason I agreed to them in this… madness.”**

Skywarp drank in the familiar voice, the familiar disapproval, the familiar scowl he could almost see on the blue Seeker’s face. He thought he understood what TC meant – the appearance and voice of the ghosts… he didn’t care the how, just loved hearing Thundercracker one more time.

“I… I’m happy to hear you TC, I truly am!”

**“It will be slightly more than just… hearing me.”**

Skywarp was confused. The purple flames flickered, like shaking with silent laughter. Something shifted in the structure with a nerve-wracking groan and some dry rust flaked and floated from the vaulted ceiling overhead. 

“W-what do you mean, TC…?”

This time the groan from the structure was louder, the rust flaking down almost a flurry. Skywarp swore he could see some movement from the corner of his optics, but when he whirled around the statues stood still like before. Starscream’s queer laugh in the background acquired a hysterical edge. 

**“You really shouldn’t be here now, Warp.”**

Thundercraker’s voice sounded louder, closer… and more real than before. Skywarp’s spark was suddenly beating a staccato rhythm and he couldn’t speak. Completely unnerved, he took a step backwards then another and jumped as a purple flame playfully licked his elbow. 

“W-w-whhat…”

There was movement behind him, where none should have been. Skywarp was way too terrified to look around, staring at Thundercracker's statue like it was a lifeline.

**“You think Starscream could stay idle, doing nothing, planning nothing, even on this side? That he wouldn’t try to go back?”**

“I-I dunno what you m-mean…?”

**“And the rest of them wanted to come back as much as him. I, and a few disagreed. But seeing you here, again… and I couldn’t say no any more.”**

**“WE WANT TO LIVE AGAIN!”**

The purple Seeker stared with optics so wide the lenses were in danger of falling out, his wings nearly invisible behind him. Thundercracker’s statue lost its hard, solid edges and trembled slightly. Lines blurred and the dark metal faded out into transparent, grayish fog. Pinpoints of burgundy lit up in the ghostly face and Skywarp felt his denta chatter. Though his attention was firmly on Thundercracker, he saw movement from all around as the statues lost their solidity one by one and started to move. Ghostly limbs twitched, claws curled after millenias of enforced immobility. Wings lifted and foggy joints creaked. Mad laughter rose to a crescendo and Starscream’s statue also sprouted his ghostly form, twisting and moving like the others. Twin red lights lit up one by one, and the central purple fire died down like they drew strength from its flames.

Skywarp stared at the two red points in front of him, drawing strength from them. If not for Thundercracker looking at him with some unspoken plea in his optics, he would have teleported out by now – but those red lights captured his and he stayed frozen among the awakening statue-ghosts. A grey arm rose and extended towards him, the servos, digits and talons solidifying as it neared towards him. Skywarp hesitantly lifted his own servo to meet it.

The touch was electric… and bitterly cold, like the vacuum of space, like flowing nitrogen, like the heart of a dead star… and Skywarp felt it draw warmth from him, energy, life itself… and nearly let the servo go, and teleported out. Nearly. But the servo let him go, the draw suddenly ended and Thundercracker stepped off the pedestal, still deathly grey, still more foglike than solid, still silent, like concentrating very hard to maintain his form and not take his life-force…

**“We won’t… harm you… that was the… condition… I agreed…”**

He clearly had less strength now that he moved than standing on the pedestal, barely able to keep his ghostly form together. The purple flames completely died down in the bowl, giving way to darkness, only lit dimly by strengthening red pinpoints all around. The other apparitions around them also started to move and float around in the chamber. Skywarp noted that some of the oldest statues didn’t move.

**“They’re… too far gone… didn’t want to come back…”**

“H-how did you come back???”

Skywarp was fairly proud of speaking up with only a minor stutter. The ghosts didn’t harm him, after all, he had TC’s promise for that. Thundercracker pointed a ghostly, but slowly solidifying servo towards the other Seeker ghost floating near them like on unseen antigravs and his voice was resigned.

**“Starscream. Give him… a chance and he’ll… cheat Unicron too.”**

“And… what are you gonna do?”

**“I’m… really not sure. I didn’t want to come back, as it it sacrilege and against both Primus and Unicron… so I didn’t listen to him.”**

**“We will LIVE AGAIN!”**

Starscream’s screech sounded mad, but Skywarp wasn’t surprised by that. The ghosts started to turn solid again, only this time not as statues, but as moving, real… mechs. There were no colours yet, but wings were less transparent now, pedes started to make a sound on the metallic floor and the red optics gained strength too. Low murmur rose and an occasional shout, a mad cry of elation, a scream of surprise broke it from the slowly moving ghosts. 

“I… see…”

Skywarp moved closer to Thundercracker’s now nearly solid arms and decided that he couldn’t care less about hows and whys. He was still scared like never before in his life, but when he saw the first form exit the Crypt a strange thought bubbled up from his processor, made his processor thaw out a bit and he joined the eldritch laughter still echoing in the chamber.

_The Bots will shit themselves._


End file.
